


Hark the Herald Angel Sings

by Felinafullstop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felinafullstop/pseuds/Felinafullstop
Summary: Aziraphale stumbles upon Crowley doing something, unexpected.





	Hark the Herald Angel Sings

**Author's Note:**

> A Super Short little snippet. 
> 
> “If I cannot fly, let me sing.” – Stephen Sondheim

They have been spending the day together, the Angel and the Demon. Clearing up the bookshop, and making room for new books to be added in the coming weeks is a chore, but they take it on together.

Aziraphale was resolute it is done by hand, even though Crowley insisted miracles wouldn't hurt the books, the angel believes otherwise. He is sure that a miracle, would leave something lingering, especially on the books of Prophecy.

He had offered to get lunch from the sweet lady down the block who made beautiful light salads and sandwiches. When the angel returned, he set the bags down on the counter pausing. He turned his head to listen, and it sounded like someone was singing.

"How you are fallen from heaven, Oh Morning Star, son of Dawn," Its sang quietly, with reverence. "How you are cut down to the ground-"

Aziraphale walks, with silent steps toward the sounds. He finds Crowley, hands gloved in black gloves delicately wrapping a book and placing it in a box. "I didn't know-" Crowley startles in front of him dropping the text into the cardboard bin.

The demon looks inside the box and seems to be checking on the book. "Ah Angel, has lunch arrived?" Crowley removes his gloves, dropping them on the counter and turns to skirt past him.

"I didn't know you could sing like that." Aziraphale continues chasing after.

"Haven't in a long time." Crowley grabs his glasses out of his shirt, and flips them open, then over his eyes. "No big deal." Aziraphale knows this quiet defense, but it's been an age since he's seen it.

"The book of Isaiah, Chapter fourteen."

Crowley nods. "Isaiah was a good kid." he turns around putting his nose in the bag.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Crowley." Aziraphale smiles brightly coming to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Crowley stops and looks down. "You didn't, Angel." He smiles softly. "I thought, perhaps." He laughs slightly. "Maybe at one time I was perhaps a herald."

Aziraphale beams at him. "I would guess perhaps you were to have such dulcet tones."

Crowley does look uncomfortable with the focus squarely on himself. "Lunch?"

Aziraphale smiles, "Yes, and tell me about this Isaiah fellow. I never did get the chance to meet him."

Crowley nods taking the bags to the table. "He was a lot like you."

"Oh, how so?"

Crowley does like to tell stories, and sitting at the small tea table in the dusty book store, he tells elaborate tales, with grand gestures that Aziraphale has always adored. They are eternal enemies and ineffable friends.


End file.
